


Once Bitten

by muselives



Category: Fringe (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-09
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29596935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muselives/pseuds/muselives
Summary: Olivia rushes to get Peter back to the lab after he's been infected with a virus while wondering if she also contacted the contagion.
Relationships: Peter Bishop/Olivia Dunham





	Once Bitten

**Author's Note:**

> [2021-02-20 author's note] Reposted from LJ. No new edits.
> 
> [original 2010-02-09 author's note] Here's some spring cleaning! Drafted for Porn Battle IX (Jan 2010!), this was meant to be worked into a longer fic but I stopped watching _Fringe_ and never came back to finish it. This scene still works pretty well as a one-shot though so I thought I'd post it to share! I'll say my standard spoilers through all seasons but this would be AU to season one or two and doesn't really give away any plot points from that time. Beta courtesy of ~crazylittleelf and ~chichuri.

She's driving back to Boston when Peter moves up against the mesh wire dividing the van just behind the front two seats. His breath, slightly ragged and warm, hits the back of her neck and she resists the desire to shiver. Her gaze jumps to the rear view mirror and the seconds that she watches him are all he needs to know of her uncertainty. "Pull over, 'livia." The words almost sound firm and sensible except for a roughness to his tone. His mouth is as close as it can be to her ear when he murmurs, "I can explain."

He probably can, too, damn him. Whatever's infecting him hasn't done a thing to his mind. He's still a genius: a charming, devious, pain in the ass genius.

"It's all a mistake," he continues soothingly. "I never touched those guys or the body. I'm not infected, I'm fine, see? Completely fine."

He's not fine. In fact, he's so feverish that she can feel the heat radiating off his body through the mesh. His eyes are dark and wild, he can't seem to catch his breath--

His voice is in her ear again, now with that low, teasing note he's used on her so often. "You're getting all worked up over nothing."

She turns away from him slightly, just for a moment, refusing to enter into his argument. He knows this silent treatment is as much about her self-control as it is punishing him. He's been digging at her from every angle and loyalty hasn't gotten him out. It's time to move on to other tricks.

"You could be infected."

Her fingers flex, grip the steering wheel tighter for a fraction of a second.

"I know you've already thought of that. Don't think I underestimate you. You're in cop mode. You've already started preparing yourself for the worst--only the worst usually is bullets and bloodshed. It doesn't matter to your body. Physiological arousal is pretty indiscriminant. Now fight-or-flight, you can control that after years of practice but the stimulus is still there. Instead of running for your life, you're rationalizing and trying not to break the speed limit."

She takes a turn too quick and Peter is dragged, grunting, to the opposite side of the van. He's right: she's still keyed up, still hypersensitive to her surroundings. That has to be why he's getting under her skin.

He returns to his place behind her shoulder, the devil breathing in her ear. "Olivia, you have to pull over," he repeats, this time more gently. "If you're infected, the longer you stay like this, the more exhausted your body's going to be."

Seeing a dirt road ahead, she veers off the highway abruptly. Again, Peter is thrown to the other side of the vehicle, but before he can move back to her blind spot, she turns to look at him for the first time since they started this trip. She feels an unexpected twist in her gut when his gaze locks on her. "If I am infected," she states quietly, refusing to look away, "I'll still be sick when we get to the lab. But you were in that warehouse for hours. I need to get you back to the lab--so will you please stop baiting me?"

Slowly, deliberately, he moves towards her again. His whole expression suggests focus, intensity, almost more of a brilliant madness than a viral infection. She can't react, can't move or turn away.

Until he closes the distance and she feels, sees, _hears_ him growl, "Olivia..."

Against reason, her mouth opens slightly, ready and eager to accept his.

Then the dull, reverberating rattle of the mesh reminds her of where they are. Peter stares at her with a new desperation, hand still against the thinly woven metal separating them, the moment broken by the reality of their troubles. His fingertips are taking whatever purchase they can and he pulls at the material, fighting for freedom again.

Olivia turns away quickly, fumbles for the latch on her safety belt, and finds herself just as suddenly standing outside the car. The cold wind picking up around her pulls her further away from the van until she's standing, staring at an uncultivated stretch of land, fading brown grass bending slightly as the wind carves its path.

Peter is raging incoherently now and the van shakes slightly with his efforts. Sometimes he shouts her name but if she closes her eyes, she can pretend its a bad dream.

She waits until he falls silent before she ventures back. Her ears are still attuned to his breathing and she hears it, quieter since he's moved towards the back of the van, but still present. This time when she pulls out on the road, she settles at a speed ten above the limit. They have to get home--they're running out of time.


End file.
